


the view from the other side

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dog Owners Castiel and Dean Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Misunderstandings, Veterinarian Castiel (Supernatural), because that's literally The Dream, there's fluff and sex too ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Cas finds the note on Monday night.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	the view from the other side

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble-ish thing to take my mind off of the real time angst of 15x09, but it took on a life of its own. Enjoy!

Cas finds the note on Monday night.

As is common with Mondays, it’s easily been a contender for Cas’s list of Official Worst Days Ever.

Two of his tires somehow busted on the way to work, and he didn’t have time to wait for a pickup so he’d had to walk the rest of the way in freezing cold rain. When he arrived at the clinic — clothes soaked through — Rowena informed him that his first appointment had been cancelled, which would’ve been fine if peeling himself off of Dean that morning to make it in on time hadn’t seemed like the hardest thing in the world. By noon, he’d euthanized an old dog, and even after seven years of working as a veterinarian he still felt sick to his stomach every damn time he had to put anything to sleep.

The rest of his appointments that day had been as routine as he’d expected, but the rain was still pounding down outside when he closed the clinic; Rowena had plans on the other side of town and therefore couldn’t give him a ride, meaning Cas had had to take the bus (in his work scrubs) which always smelled of some sort of human excrement.

When he’d eventually arrived home, The Colonel had left him a big, steaming pile of shit in the kitchen and just looked at him as if to say _yeah, that’s mine, what are you gonna do about it?,_ completely void of the usual guilt dogs possessed in regards to ever doing anything wrong. Cas had thought that a bath would make him feel ten times better, only to walk up into the bathroom and see that the radiator had flooded everywhere.

So, now, he’s been looking for the keys to the garage for half an hour because he needs a wrench, and is getting so frustrated that he’s considering just taking the damn door off its hinges. Anyway, back to the note.

**Cas: hey do you know where the garage key is? Radiator leaking in bathroom need your wrench**

**Dean: keep talking like that you’ll have me coming home early ;))))))**

**Cas: I’ll kill you**

**Dean: haha sorry baby. Check the pocket of my leather jacket think that’s what I had on when I was in there yesterday. It’ll be in my toolbox just have a root through it**

**Cas: ok <3 also if you can come home early I know of a toolbox you can root through :) **

**Dean: yeah I think we should see other people**

**Cas: you’re a dick**

**Dean: I love you :) gonna have to stay late again tonight tho need to get this Merc finished before morning. If you get takeout can you leave me something in the fridge plz**

**Cas: ok. Need you to sort my car out tomorrow please. Left it parked omw to work**

**Dean: ok baby**

Cas sighs and shoves his phone back into his pocket. It’s nice that they get to text through the day, Cas always taking a spare thirty seconds between appointments to ask Dean how his day’s going, Dean keeping him updated on new cars that come into the shop and all the ideas he has about fixing them up. Cas doesn’t care for cars, not really, but he always humours Dean with an enthusiastic reply about the colour or something—just anything so Dean knows he cares about what he’s into.

They both work hard for what they have: a quaint but nice house, a couple of decent cars, a few luxuries here and there. All in all, they have a fucking awesome life that makes Cas lipsmackingly happy most days (this particularly putrid Monday not included, of course).

Dean’s always worked a lot, never taking vacation or sick days because he hardly needs them, really; he loves his job. Recently, though, it’s like he can’t get enough of the place. He goes in early and comes home late and while he can’t apologise enough most of the time, the fact that Cas can’t remember the last time they ate dinner together is enough to make his stomach twist a little.

It started in November with the excuse that Christmas was coming up and Cas’s income usually took a hit around the holidays (buying expensive presents was a higher priority than taking care of your pets, apparently), meaning that Dean would have to pull a little more weight. The conversation wasn’t a guilt thing and he’d never make Cas feel bad about it, it was just a means to explain why he’d have to pretty much live at the shop for a while.

Now it was January though, and if anything, Dean’s just been working more and more. Cas isn’t sure what the excuse is now, and he’s reached a point where he doesn’t even reply to most of Dean’s texts to let him know he’ll be staying late. He just sulks for a while and tries to distract himself as a way to stop his brain working just as much overtime as Dean does. It works, most of the time.

He walks into the hallway with a huff, spying Dean’s jacket hanging on the wooden coat rack by the door. As soon as Cas grabs it, he hears the tell tale jingling sound of keys in the pocket and lets a half-contented noise slip. Cas reaches into the pocket and grips them, eager to get everything back in working order so he can finally just chill the fuck out.

A small piece of folded paper falls out of Dean’s pocket along with the rusty keys, and Cas pulls his brows together in curious confusion as he bends to pick it up.

Quickly making out a phone number scrawled in quick but feminine handwriting, his eyes pan down to the rest of the paper.

_I’d love to see you again. ;) Tessa <3 _

It’s like being punched in the gut. Actually, it’s more like being punched in the gut and then beaten to the floor with a sledgehammer soaked in acid.

Cas’s eyes scour over the words again and again like he’s trying to make sure he’s reading it right, trying to make sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him to really finish off the day just as grimly as it’s been from the jump. He faintly hears the sound of keys hitting the floor, somewhere in the back of his mind, and slumps against the nearest wall.

“Oh,” croaks Cas to nobody but himself, swallowing just to try and get the feeling of bile rushing up his throat to subside.

The speed at which it all adds up in his head would probably be impressive if it didn’t feel as though his brain was swimming in boiling hot soup.

The early mornings and late nights Dean was apparently spending at work, all of the extra money he should be bringing in even though their bills weren’t being paid any faster and not much was going into their savings, the one day Cas had gone to visit Dean during a twelve hour work day and him not being there, only for Benny to sputter a now very obvious lie about Dean being out of the shop buying extra parts for a car. Fuck.

Cas drops his shaking hand to his side, still holding the note and feels his wrist brush against his phone in his pocket. God, he knows he should leave it alone, knows all he should be doing is thinking of all the ways he can tear Dean a new one when he gets home. He could probably pack himself a bag and stay with Gabe, be gone before Dean even gets home. He knows that’s the smart thing to do, just get the fuck out of dodge before he makes anything any worse. But, Cas takes a second to rationalise that nobody ever does the smart thing in these situations.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks through to the kitchen, wasting no time reaching up into the liquor cabinet and taking down a bottle of Dean’s expensive whiskey. The bottle’s basically full. Maybe he’ll drink just enough to get hammered and then pour the rest away, maybe he’ll replace it with vinegar and let Dean choke on the taste, maybe he’ll just pour it all over everything Dean owns. Who the fuck knows.

Cas pours himself half a tumbler and brings it to his lips and suddenly has the feeling he’s being watched. He looks down to see The Colonel staring up at him, big brown eyes boring into his as if he knows something’s wrong. For a minute, Cas swears he sees him look between his face and the whiskey.

“Hey, don’t judge me. Your dad’s an asshole.”

The dog cocks his head to the side for a second before slumping his body at Cas’s feet in what he hopes to be solidarity and support for what he’s about to do. From the day he moved in, he’s sworn to Dean that The Colonel knows what he’s thinking and that they have some sort of telepathic link. He remembers Dean’s smile as he’d said “I’m just glad my two babies get along” and immediately feels a hundred times worse.

Dragging his attention back to the task at hand, Cas looks at the note where he’s flattened it out on the kitchen countertop and breathes deeply before pulling his phone from his pocket.

He downs his drink and punches in the phone number before he can think twice. The dial tone irritates him more than he ever thought a noise could. It goes on a little too long, Cas’s brain starts to have a moment of clarity and he’s just about to hang up when, “Hello?” 

Oh god, she sounds gorgeous. She sounds gorgeous and feminine and he bets she's a brunette—it’s always been Dean’s type, and Cas hates how he now feels like Exhibit A—with an hourglass figure and beautiful eyes and a smile that makes everyone around her smile too. Oh god, he’s about to be sick or shit himself. Maybe both.

“Is anybody there?” the voice speaks again, and Cas has to take another deep breath so he doesn’t just scream down the phone unintelligibly.

“Um,” even the single syllable and not-word comes out shaky, and he tries to get a handle on the way his throat is contracting before continuing, “is this Tessa?”

“...yes? Who is this?” there’s an amused lilt to her voice that makes Cas see red in a way he can’t even begin to describe, but he pushes on.

“I found your name and number on a note in my boyfriend’s jacket, and I’m just wondering who the hell you are.” His heart pounds against the wall of his chest and if he didn’t know it to be impossible, he’d swear it’s about to jump straight through.

Tessa’s breath catches and Cas hears it clear as a bell. She mumbles out an “oh shit” before the line goes dead and Cas is left holding his phone to his ear.

Eyes squeezing shut, he arm swings back and he’s about to throw the damn phone against the wall when he feels a shift at his feet. The Colonel’s curling up around his ankles sleepily and the last thing he wants to do is scare him, so he calmly places the phone down on the counter and wipes away a tear as it slips down his face.

Cas pours himself another helping of whiskey and realises he’d rather live today over and over again for the rest of his life—latest tragedy excluded—than ever feel like this.

#  ♡

It’s just past ten when he hears Dean trudge through the door. Cas hears him greet the dog, who’d moved to rest behind the front door a little while ago, anticipating Dean’s return.

“Cas? You still up?” The voice that, just hours ago, made him feel comfortable and warm and safe now just makes him fill up with rage and unbridled grief from head to toe. Cas doesn’t even want to think about the fact that he’s going to have to look at Dean’s face, he’s going to have to tell him that he’s leaving him and that the life they’ve spent half a damn decade building together now means nothing because Dean couldn’t just keep it in his fucking pants.

He hasn’t really moved for hours. He’s just been drinking a little and thinking about what to say, has prepared some sort of a speech with what he hopes to be some semblance of coherency. If he sputters over a few words, he vows to cut himself a little slack considering it does kind of feel like his world is collapsing around him.

So, yeah, the plan is to tell Dean that he knows, that he’s gonna spend tonight with Gabe or Charlie or just anyone that isn’t Dean Winchester. He’s gonna ask Dean to start moving his stuff out at his earliest convenience and once that’s done, to never even think about speaking to him or coming anywhere near him ever again. Cas thinks it’s the strong, grown up way of doing this and he feels as good as he possibly can about it.

Predictably, the plan goes to Hell as soon as Dean sets foot in the kitchen and they lay eyes on each other.

Cas looks up at Dean’s face from where he’s still sitting at the kitchen island and has to force himself not to puke there and then.

“Hey,” Dean smiles, looking between Cas and the bottle of whiskey which was well on its way to being half empty, “breaking into the good stuff? Long ass day, I could use a drink or ten.”

Any words he thinks about saying just get stuck and feel like molasses slipping down his throat, and Cas just stares at Dean a little dumbly with his mouth slightly agape. Dean drops his work duffel on the floor where he’s standing and heads towards the fridge, walking behind Cas on the way and brushing a hand over his back absentmindedly.

Trying not to visibly shudder, Cas closes his eyes and attempts to think of something he’s planned to say but the only feedback he gets from his brain is _Dean Dean Dean_ —

“Did you order food? Or make anything?” his voice is a lot closer now, just behind him, and Cas hates the way his heart fucking lurches at the sound of it. A breath trembles its way out of him and he tries to collect himself a little.

“Uh, no, not in the end.”

“You eat?”

“Wasn't hungry.”

“Okay. You want anything now? ‘M probably just going to make toast or something.”

He hears Dean moving around behind him but doesn’t bother to turn his head, knows he’s going for the half and half loaf in the pantry and probably the orange marmalade in the fridge that Jo taught Cas how to make years ago and Dean loves.

“No, it’s fine.” It really isn’t fine.

Dean says nothing and Cas can practically feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of him, probably wondering what’s going on. God, how he can still play dumb so well that Cas actually kind of believes that nothing’s wrong is more than infuriating.

The sounds of Dean’s movements cease for a second before Cas hears a single footstep advancing towards him, and then feels an arm snake its way around his waist. Fuck.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean leans his head down to kiss at his neck, it’s so tender and soft and it’s just too much. Cas slips his feet off of the stool he’s sitting on and pushes himself out of Dean’s grasp, every breath he takes feeling like a punch to the stomach. The shift he makes causes a light breeze and a scent wafts up between them. Cas inhales the sweet smell and oh god, that’s perfume. It has to be.

“What’s that smell?” he asks, accusatory tone coming into play. Cas notices the way Dean recoils at his voice as well as him pulling away from his touch and actually starts to feel bad before remembering that he’s a fucking pig.

“Smell?”

“There’s a smell on you.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows and looks down at himself, lifting the collar of his shirt up to his nose and inhaling. “Oh,” he breathes with a smile that actually looks like relief, and Cas feels his anger start to seep into hatred because Dean still has no real idea that he’s pissed, “pretty sure it’s frosting. Jo brought some cakes down to the garage before. I meant to bring you one home but I left it. Like I said, long ass day, just wanted to get out of there and see you.”

“Okay.” Cas nods and leans his back against the side of a counter, facing Dean.

He stares blankly at him, his plump lips, perfectly pointed nose and speckled green eyes and can’t believe he feels something that isn’t love. He just feels sick. Dean catches him staring and moves towards him again, swift and unassuming as ever. His hands rest on the counter either side of Cas and his strong, toned arms bracket him in. Never did Cas think he could feel so claustrophobic standing so close to the love of his life.

“Bet I can make it up to you,” Dean muses. He pushes his body against Cas’s and crowds him in against the side, making a move to lean down and press their lips together, but Cas stops him with a hand to his chest before he can get there.

“Stop, Dean.” Dean bristles and steps back immediately, confusion and hurt all over his face.

Cas loves sex, loves it almost as much as he loves Dean. He’s obviously heard people talk about how the spark fades after a few years with someone, how eventually you’d rather sit and watch a movie with them than fuck them. He’s heard it from sober friends and drunken relatives alike but he’s always smugly thought about how he can’t relate, he and Dean at it like rabbits any chance they get, even after years together. Cas can’t remember the last time Dean came onto him and he refused or vice versa, which is why his advances being rebuffed is the thing that finally makes it hit home for Dean.

“What’s going on with you? Is it that I’ve just got in? I know I probably fuckin’ reek. I can go shower and meet you upstairs—”

“No. That’s not what it is.”

“What, then? You tired? You’ve been up since the ass crack of dawn, so I’m not surprised—”

Cas can’t stand hearing him talk anymore and so that’s when his patience reaches the end of the line, and the dam breaks.

“No. It’s not that I’m tired, Dean. It’s that you’re sleeping with someone else.”

It comes out a lot louder and a lot grittier than Cas expects it to and Dean steps back further as though he’s been slapped. He’s rendered speechless, which doesn’t happen often. If Cas didn’t feel like utter shit, he’d probably be smug over it. Cas only notices that The Colonel’s followed Dean back into the kitchen when he sees him flinch from his place beneath the kitchen table and guilt twists in his gut.

Dean’s mouth moves wordlessly for about ten seconds before he spits out, “I’m _what_?”

Thankful for the new space between their bodies, Cas crosses his arms over his chest in what’s supposed to be a show of self defence--a weak one, sure, but still. He expects the position to bring him some sort of warmth or comfort; it doesn’t.

“How long?” 

“How long what?”

“How long has this been going on, Dean?”

“Cas, I have no idea what you’re—”

“Okay. Who’s Tessa?”

“Tessa?” Dean’s face contorts in what Cas recognises as complete confusion, but he’s already convinced himself, and Dean’s always been a great liar. He’s never lied to Cas before, sure, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he knows Dean could bullshit his way out of anything.

The weight of Dean’s stare heavy on his face, Cas finally breaks eye contact with the other man and walks around him, stalking angrily towards the table and picking up the note. He’s already scrunched it back up in anger and flattened it back out a few times, the paper looking like it’s been through the ringer just as much as he has tonight. Cas turns and shoves it at Dean, forcing himself to watch the other’s face as he unfolds the note and reads it. Dean’s expression barely shifts, just deepens from confusion into utter bewilderment.

“What do you think this is?” he asks cautiously.

“Dean, just stop, okay? I can’t stand here and listen to your bullshit.”

" _My_ bullshit?”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot. The late ‘work’ nights, the fact that none of this extra money you’re supposedly making is going into any of our accounts, me turning up at the shop looking for you and Benny covering for you—which he's terrible at, by the way—”

“Cas—” he tries to interject.

“No, Dean. Honestly? It’s making me sick to even look at you right now, so I think it’s best if I just go and stay somewhere tonight. It’s late. You can start moving your things out tomorrow.”

“Wait a fucking minute, I’m not moving my shit anywhere.”

“You think you have a leg to stand on here? Why am I even still stood here entertaining this?”

Dean lets out a sharp laugh, but it’s brittle and humourless. He just looks at Cas for a second, face unreadable, before glancing down at the ground and letting out a deep sigh. Holding the note between two fingers and lifting it up, peering back up. “You wanna know what this is?”

“I know what it is, Dean.”

“No, you don’t!” he cuts Cas off before he can continue, “I went to the bank a few weeks back to put some money into _my_ account, which I am actually allowed to do, and the teller— _Tessa_ , apparently—gave me this when she gave me my deposit receipt. I wasn’t gonna be a dick about it, so I just shoved it into my pocket. I didn’t even really look at it. I haven’t even thought about it since.”

Cas’s heart thumps louder because he knows Dean, knows all his expressions and knows that the look on his face right now is one of hurt and, ultimately, honesty. He’s exhausted, though, and his brain’s been running him ragged thinking about this for what feels like days. However, the devil on his shoulder somewhere reminds him that Dean’s poker face is better than impeccable.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Cas all but whimpers the words and feels the burn of unshed tears behind his eyes. They just keep staring at each other, and there’s a moment of deafening silence before Cas hears the almost soundless thud of balled up paper hitting the floor as Dean drops the note. He chokes out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob and nods curtly.

“This is so not how I pictured this happening.”

Nodding in agreement, Cas summises that the this he’s referring to is the end of their relationship. He feels a little nauseous at the idea that Dean ever pictured their relationship ending in any way, and is about to speak to that when Dean turns around and walks over to his bag, almost forgotten where he dumped it on the way in.

Cas watches wordlessly as he picks it up and drops it onto the island, rummaging through it until his hand stops, clearly having found whatever he’s after.

“You know why I’ve been working all the damn time? Pulling double shifts, trying to get a little extra money?” he questions, and Cas can’t do anything but wait for him to finish. “Because I was saving up so that I could finally buy this.”

Dean throws something onto the counter, and the second Cas recognises what it is, it’s like someone’s thrown ice water down his back.

The small, velvet box glares at him from where it’s landed on the countertop, askew on its side from how Dean had practically launched it.

He’s speechless, his mouth feeling as though somebody’s filled it up with sand, and all he can manage to let slip is a weak, “oh.”

Dean chuckles mirthlessly. “Yeah. Oh.”

“Dean—”

“The only reason I was ever in that fucking bank when I was is because I was putting all of my money in the same place so that I could actually afford this. That day you came down to the yard and I wasn’t there? I was at the jewellers buying you the damn thing.”

The tears finally start to spill over, ”Dean," Cas’s legs practically give out from beneath him. He leans himself against the side and breathes, “Dean. I am so, so, sorry—”

“You know what? I don’t know if I believe you,” Dean spits, echoing his own words back at him. Grabbing the box, he shoves it into his pocket and stomps out of the room. The thud, thud, thudding of him practically bouncing up the stairs makes the room spin around Cas.

A little over five years, they’ve been together. Cas still remembers the feeling that stirred up in his stomach the first time they locked eyes in the consultation room at the clinic. The Colonel had gone to town on a jumbo box of Christmas chocolates that he’d managed to pull off of the kitchen counter, and Dean had rushed him in, all terrified eyes and shaking hands. Cas managed to pump the offending sweets out of his stomach and, of course, he lived through the trauma to be a giant, bouncy pain in their asses.

They fell into it quickly. Dean came back in to see Cas a few days after the ordeal, to ironically gift him a box of chocolates as a thank you. Five days after shyly swapping numbers, Cas had found himself naked on his back on Dean’s couch, legs flung over Dean’s shoulders, the whole nine. The rigmarole of waiting the standardly accepted amount of days to call between dates never seemed to matter to them, meeting up for coffee or dinner or a quick fuck whenever they had the time. It lacked the complications and the worries of a new, budding romance but held onto the exciting, fiery spark that came with seeing somebody new.

After a few months, they were both waiting for the honeymoon phase and giddiness to wear off, but it never did.

Dean, being just a few years older, had been through his fair share of sucky relationships at this point, each one ending a little less dramatically than the last as it became less of a heartbreak and more just going through the motions. It was different with Cas, though, had been from the jump. It's always been easy and fluid and just so right between them, and Cas hates himself for fucking it up so quickly by just jumping the gun. He slumps down against the counter and solemnly wonders how the fuck he’d gotten this so ass-upwards.

#  ♡

His third cup of coffee is half empty by the time Dean decides to show his face. He’s just heard the telltale sound of the shower being shut off, followed by Dean’s footsteps on the stairs.

Cas hasn’t slept, he couldn’t get comfortable on the couch without Dean pressed against his side, and couldn’t help but see the look of hurt that’d been on his face played back for him every time he closed his eyes.

He’s picking at a bagel to no end, still feeling like there’s heavy rocks lining his stomach when Dean pads into the kitchen. Cas watches as he tiredly rubs at his eyes and can’t believe that some of the mundane shit he does is still so endearing after all this time.

“Hey.” Cas figures that if he doesn’t force some words out now, it’ll be ten times harder later on.

Dean says nothing, just strides straight past him to pour a cup of coffee for himself. The silence that falls over them is so suffocating and uncomfortable. They’ve fought before but it’s never felt worse than this and it’s never been something they couldn’t just talk through an hour later. It’s definitely never kept them from sharing a bed before.

Cas listens as Dean slurps his coffee—a habit he doesn’t think the other will ever get out of—and waits. Dean is terrible at giving the silent treatment and just hates not being able to have the last word, and so Cas knows he’ll say something eventually, but doesn’t want to piss him off more by trying to pry it out of him.

He turns around to observe whatever Dean’s doing to distract himself from Cas being so close. He watches as he pushes two pieces of bread into the toaster before opening the refrigerator and taking things out, looking at them and putting them straight back. It’s one of his tells when he’s feeling anxious or angry—wasting time doing unimportant shit so he doesn’t have to deal with whatever’s bothering him.

Dean, obviously feeling Cas’s eyes on him, turns his head to the side ever so slightly and gives him the onceover. He glances at the clock hanging on the wall and back at Cas’s pyjama clad body.

“You not working today?” It’s cloaked as small talk, but Cas knows he’s just trying to find an in.

“Didn’t get any sleep so I called in. Charlie’s covering my appointments.”

“Awesome,” Dean replies dryly, his voice monotone. “Can you believe I managed to get up without waking the dog? Fucking thing sleeps enough for the whole country. I fixed the radiator, by the way.” More small talk.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

Dean turns to him looking exasperated and quickly furious, “talk about what? How you obviously don’t trust me? How you think I’m some dirty-dicked cheating asshole who’d just jump right into bed with the first person who bats their fucking eyelashes at me?”

“Dean, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Say what you’re clearly thinking?”

“That is not what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking is that I’m an idiot for going off on you before actually knowing anything, but when all signs point to somewhere, it’s pretty difficult not to look there.”

“How could you even think I could do that to you?” Dean’s voice cracks over his words and a physical ache spreads through Cas’s body as he watches the other man try to swallow down the lump in his throat. He isn’t a crier—and Cas knows he’d rather get angry over something than upset over it any day of the week—so the fact that Dean’s eyes are brimming with tears shows just how badly this is fucking him up. “Even the thought of being with someone that isn’t you is enough to make me wanna fucking hurl, Cas. _Fuck_.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how awful I feel about this, how much I’m hating myself for it.” God, his own voice is going now, Cas completely unable to keep it together after seeing what he’s done to Dean. It doesn’t help that Dean keeps letting out these little watery laughs, completely void of amusement and laced with bitterness.

“You know,” he breathes, looking down at the ground, “that ring’s been in a drawer at work for three weeks. I’ve been going over and over it in my head thinking of the perfect way to ask you, because I wanted it to be something you remembered and thought about every day for the rest of your life. Guessing you won’t be forgetting this anytime soon.” 

Cas doesn’t realise how much he’s crying until he has to actually focus on catching his breath, looking on at Dean. He’s at a loss for words, and he’s glad when Dean starts talking again, that is, until he hears what he actually has to say.

“I was gonna take the day off today because I knew you were supposed to be working. I wanted to make you a real fancy dinner, you know, all ready for when you got in. Was gonna light candles and put lights all over the place, all corny and cliché because I know how much you love that shit, even if you’d never admit it. But now I’m thinking—” his words catch on a nervous gulp that he fails to hide, “why would you ever wanna marry me when you can’t even trust me?”

Cas starts to lurch forward towards Dean before he even realises what he’s doing, and has to stop himself from clutching his shirt between his hands. Stupidly, even after everything they’ve been through together, he doesn’t want to come on too strong after such a massive fuck up. He stiffly flattens his hand over Dean’s stomach, touch light and scarce as though he’s afraid that Dean’s just going to push him away. Cas uses the hand dangling uselessly at his side to quickly wipe tears from his face.

“You think I don’t trust you?” Dean doesn’t shift, makes no move to shove Cas away from him, so he takes it as a good sign. Moving in a little closer, he rests his forehead against Dean’s chest, exhales calmly and hears the other man do the same.

“When I realised I was gay, I thought it meant I couldn’t have this perfect, apple pie life that everyone around me had, my mom and dad, Gabe and Kali; and the fact that nobody ever told me otherwise affected every relationship I ever had, it ruined and changed the way I thought about everything,” he says delicately, “and then I met you, and—and I knew.”

Cas feels a weight on the top of his head, and immediately recognises it as Dean’s chin. “Cas—” he starts.

“I knew as soon as we started getting serious that I’d finally found that thing that I never thought I’d have because I was different. You showed me that I could have it and you gave it to me, which means you’re the only person that could ever take it away. It’s not that I don’t trust you Dean, it’s—it’s that every day there’s a voice in the back of my mind wondering whether today’s the day you realise how much easier it’d be with someone else, someone with less baggage.”

“I don’t want anyone else, never have,” Dean murmurs. It’s everything he’s ever needed to hear wrapped up into seven little words, and as Dean moves to kiss against his forehead, Cas pushes in impossibly closer, swears he can feel Dean’s heartbeat against the side of his face.

A familiar pair of rough, work-calloused hands come to ghost at his waist for a brief moment before one grasps his chin and angles his mouth right towards Dean’s. The insistent press of Dean’s lips against his feels like coming home after a long day, always has. Cas twists his hand in the front of Dean’s shirt and wraps the other arm tightly around the back of his neck, feels the warmth from Dean’s body pass to his and shroud him from head to toe.

One of them makes the first move to deepen the kiss, Cas isn’t really sure who, since they’re so close now that he’s beginning to lose track of where he ends and Dean begins. Those hands are back at his waist now, grip skillful and sure as ever as he’s pushed backwards so his body is pressed against the kitchen island. He feels the lip of the counter digging into his skin through his shirt but can’t find it in him to care.

Dean’s plump lips migrate down towards his neck, stubble dragging against the tender skin of his cheek and jaw before taking root just below his ear. Leaning his head back, Cas suppresses a groan, doesn’t quite want Dean to know how desperate he is for this already because he knows Dean’s touches and kisses will get rougher, more insistent as he tries to get Cas that little bit more turned on.

As promised, Dean lightly grazes his teeth over Cas’s skin in a way he knows drives him crazy and his hands slip under the hem of his shirt, softly tracing over the skin of his stomach before clamping down over his hips. Cas can’t help but smile at just how well he knows Dean, how well he knows his body and the way he thinks.

He lets a gentle moan slip, and he knows he’s spurring Dean on more when he presses their hips together—God, he’s already hard—and pulls back, locking eyes with Cas and fixing him with a stare that’s so animal and yet still so fucking fond that it actually makes him ache a little.

Dean starts to press desperate kisses to his lips, “what,” kiss, “do I have to do,” kiss, “to prove to you,” kiss, and Cas can’t help but think that this guy is gonna be the death of him, “that you’re it for me?”

He chokes down a gasp and grasps the sides of Dean’s face, “just show me. Show me.”

Nodding fanatically, Dean surges towards Cas and pushes a desperate but deep kiss against his lips and the fierce, hot prickling feeling stays on Cas’s mouth even after Dean pulls away to drag his own shirt over his head.

Cas trails his hands down Dean’s chest across the newly exposed skin, the smooth feeling of his body under Cas’s palms making the pace of his heart pick up even faster. He stops his hands on their descent to tease at Dean’s nipples, stroking the pads of his fingers across the sensitive skin and gently tugging at them, just how he knows Dean likes it. Pressing his mouth against the column of his neck, Cas smirks when he feels a vibrating groan bubble up in Dean’s throat. 

“Will never get over how hot you are—how lucky I am.” 

“Baby,” Dean grunts.

“Hmm?”

Cas feathers light pecks along his skin. His lips follow the trail of his touches, slipping down Dean’s chest slowly but with earnest; he knows what he’s doing, every move and breath calculated just right to drive Dean wild.

Cas drops to his knees and pushes a kiss to the skin below Dean’s naval, casts his eyes upwards and tries not to nuzzle towards the touch when he feels a hand wrap into his hair.

“Don’t have to.”

“‘M making it up to you. Shh.”

Cas tugs at the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants and thanks someone, somewhere that he’d decided not to wear any boxers, hard cock arching upwards when he pulls them down to Dean’s mid-thigh. The tip almost reaches Cas’s lips, it’s flushed red and already leaking with arousal and he can’t help himself, he leans forward and swipes his tongue across the slit hastily.

Dean’s fingers tighten their grip in his hair and Cas is fucking living for how the feeling just borders on stinging.

He looks up and there’s a desperate, frenzied look in those gorgeous green eyes that he loves so damn much. Cas holds Dean’s gaze as he moves forward to swiftly wrap his lips around the head of his cock, suckling at it teasingly and gripping the base with his hand. He doesn’t miss the hiss it pulls from the other man’s mouth. The hand in his hair spreads to caress the back of his head, and Cas can tell Dean wants more but doesn’t want to seem too pushy, never wanting to push Cas’s boundaries even after they’ve done this probably hundreds of times. Right now, though, he needs Dean to take control, needs him to put Cas right where he wants him and just take.

He pulls off, “fuck my mouth.”

Dean’s cock twitches, and his face contorts with a look of surprise that makes Cas laugh; he thinks of the picture he must make, smirking with amusement with Dean’s dick in his hand.

“What?”

“You want to show me how much you need me, right?” Cas challenges, “so, come on. Show me.”

The other man lets out a breathless noise, something between an out of character whimper and a laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Dean’s always happy to let Cas go at his own speed because it’s always fucking unreal no matter who’s setting the pace; they’ve tried to do this a couple of times, but Dean’s always a little afraid of hurting him or going too fast or, Jesus, coming immediately, because the even the mental image of Cas just letting him use his mouth is too much, makes him burn hot all over.

Cas’s grip falls away from his shaft and he watches Dean’s own quickly replace it. He parts his lips a little in anticipation before Dean’s cock is pressing between them, slipping the underside across his tongue with a barely concealed gasp. Another hand joins the one pushed against the top of his head and rests on the back of his neck, grip firm but careful.

Dean holds him in place and cants his hips forward shallowly, clearly experimenting with what feels good like this (everything). Cas tightens his lips around the shaft and hums as Dean presses forward inch by inch, eyes trained on his face as if he’s expecting Cas to tell him to stop or back up. Cas sucks around the weight of Dean in his mouth and revels in the sight of his eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open around the feeling.

He starts to move a little faster, a little deeper, and Cas feels the head of Dean’s cock nudge the back of his throat for the briefest moment. If the surprised moan that falls from his mouth is anything to go by, Dean feels it too. If he could, Cas would probably smile.

He relaxes his throat and swallows around Dean, hoping to encourage him to keep going deep like that. His eyes all but glaze over at the feeling, and Cas knows it’s gotten through to him. Dean grips the back of his neck even tighter and thrusts forward, letting his cock slip down Cas’s throat and setting up a rhythm that makes him pull a hand from the other man’s hair and slam it down on the counter in front of him.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, “taking it so fucking good for me.”

God, Cas loves the praise. He knows he makes Dean feel good, no matter how they do this—the other man’s pleasure is always at the forefront of his mind whenever they fuck, he makes sure of it. Actually hearing it, though, makes his toes curl and his dick jump, still straining against the scratchy material of his boxers.

Dean leans forward, pushing so far into Cas’s mouth that his nose is pressing against the skin of his pelvis, and his throat flutters, not used to his mouth being so full but loving the fact that all he can taste, feel, see is Dean. He notices the flex of Dean’s stomach, just above his eyeline, knows that its one of his tells when he’s getting close.

Cas reaches up and lightly grasps at Dean’s balls, knowing just how to get him over the edge. He’s rolling them in the palm of his hand when he feels a sharp tug on his hair, and he’s being yanked off Dean’s dick, a string of spit connecting the swollen head to his bottom lip.

Cas looks up quizzically, “you okay?”

“Yeah, was about to come but I wanna fuck you,” replies Dean breathlessly, swiping a thumb over Cas’s lip.

Grabbing the older man’s hand, Cas lets Dean pull him to his feet and takes a second to appreciate how wrecked he looks—eyes glazed over with lust and mouth parted as he practically pants to get his breaths out.

Cas leans in, craving Dean’s lips as well as the reaction he’ll know he’ll get from letting Dean taste himself on his mouth. Before he can, though, Dean’s gripping his hips and turning him around, and Cas finds himself with his front shoved up against the counter. He’s about to make some noise of protest born of not being able to kiss Dean within an inch of his life, he feels hands on the hem of his boxer shorts, dragging them down over his ass at a pace that’s so slow it actually borders on taunting.

“Okay like this?” Dean tenderly kisses the nape of his neck. Pushing back against Dean’s hips, Cas nods and leans into the caress of his mouth. He feels Dean’s thick cock pressed against his bare skin and Cas shudders as Dean takes himself in hand and runs it between his asscheeks, teasing. Cas knows he’d never fuck him without prep, never mind dry, but the sensation of the tip ghosting over his sensitive hole has Cas choking on his own breath and shoving himself back into Dean even farther.

Dean chuckles behind him, but fails to hide the shaky arousal in his voice, “look at you—you want it so bad, don’t you?”

“Dean, please.”

A fleeting peck lands on the back of Cas’s neck, the pressure alleviated as quickly as it comes. Dean peels himself off of him and the Cas suddenly feels cold, turning to watch as Dean roots through their kitchen cupboards and pulls out a bottle of olive oil.

The picture of Dean shimmying over towards him, cooking oil in hand and pants bunched around his ankles—unsurprisingly—breaks him out of his sex stupor for a moment and he can’t help but let out a sharp, barking laugh.

“What?”

“The pants?”

Dean looks down at himself and practically snorts, “I hadn’t even noticed.” He kicks off the sweats and jolts them across the room.

Cas feels the warmth of Dean’s body at his back again and anticipation bubbles back up inside him; he all but shakes with pure excitement when Dean places the oil on the counter in front of them.

The warmth soon leaves, though, as Dean drops to his knees behind Cas and two large hands are on his ass before he knows it, spreading him open.

“God—so fucking pretty down here.” Dean loves looking at his body, even the most intimate parts of it. He always has, and Cas remembers how self conscious he was in the beginning, how his cheeks would bloom red whenever Dean gazed at his naked skin. Over the years, though, he’s grown to love how it feels to be able to hold Dean’s attention, all just by being bare in front of him.

Dean bites a kiss into the crease between Cas’s ass and thigh, lets his tongue run over the light indentations left by his teeth. He moves his mouth up and inwards, repeats the movement—bite, kiss, lick—several times. Cas’s lower lip quivers and hangs a little as he feels a heated breath ghost over his entrance. Dean flattens his tongue against the puckered rim and Cas’s vision damn near blacks out.

“Oh—!” he gasps, eyes falling shut at the feel of it.

Dean pulls away for a second, “this okay?”

“Think you’re gonna kill me.”

Dean snickers and leans back in, laps over Cas’s hole again with a little more conviction. His ecstatic groans soon turn into short, halted hiccuped sounds with every pass of Dean’s wet tongue over him. A warm, slightly sweaty hand runs up the outside of Cas’s shuddering thigh.

As Dean presses his face in closer, his tongue slips past the rim, just the tip, but it’s as though Cas can feel the _very_ welcomed invasion all the way through his body, like Dean’s toying with every nerve ending.

Dean gently pushes Cas’s legs apart a little as a way to move in even deeper, and it’s all Cas can do to keep them from giving out underneath him as Dean spears his tongue further inside. He pulls away for a split second but then he’s right back, quickly kitten licking at the sensitive skin around Cas’s entrance before he’s all but diving back in, suckling harshly over the rim.

Cas can feel how wet he is from Dean’s spit, and the crudeness of it would probably make his face heat up if he wasn’t too busy thinking of all the ways he could get the other man closer. Dean’s mouth slurps loudly against him, and the sound is vulgar and lewd enough to make Cas’s stomach flip and his elbows give out where he’s leaning on the countertop.

“Oh—Dean, that’s so good. That’s so, so good.” Cas leans his forehead against the cold marble, the coolness a welcome contrast to the heat coursing through and all over his body. 

He feels Dean’s chin slide through his own spit, and God, it’s so filthy and so fucking hot that Cas knows he won’t last like this, even untouched.

“Dean, Dean. Stop,” he pants, “stop. Gonna come.”

The wetness of Dean’s mouth pulls away from him, and Cas almost misses the feeling before he notices Dean reaching up to grip the oil off of the side. He slicks up two fingers and they slide right in, Cas’s hole already gaping a little from Dean’s prying tongue.

Cas grunts at the press of Dean’s two thick fingers against his insides, distantly registers the light flutter of lips against his lower back when a third is eagerly added and they scissor apart a little. He whines and clenches tightly around the intrusion, pushes back almost subconsciously to try and fuck himself on Dean’s hand.

“God, baby,” Dean whispers.

“Please.”

Dean withdraws his fingers and stands up on shaky legs, gripping Cas’s hips to centre him before he coats his cock, still rock hard and throbbing, in oil. He thumbs Cas apart once more and nudges his tip against his damp opening.

The pressure of Dean slipping into him knocks the air from Cas’s lungs, every damn time without fail. Cas hears Dean’s breath hitch in time with his, and takes a moment to relish in the fact that they’re so in sync.

The grip on his hips is like a vice, Dean holding onto him like a lifeline; Cas feels him shudder behind him as he presses himself deeper inside—slow enough to give Cas a second to adjust, but with steady conviction.

One of Dean’s hands leave his hips and he feels a strong palm pressed flat against the plain of his back, keeping him pushed down against the counter. Cas turns his head and lets the cold surface squeeze against his cheek.

He lets out a strung out groan when Dean slowly pulls out all the way before slamming back in hard, and Cas’s mouth drops open on the feeling.

“Oh, God.” The words come out as more of a slurred whine, but Cas can’t find it in him to care. Dean repeats the movement like routine, draws himself out bar the tip and rams back inwards, grazing that bundle of nerves deep inside. The drag of Dean against his insides makes Cas’s hands curl into fists and his stomach flip.

Good as it is, his pace remains slow and Cas just can’t help but crave more, “faster.”

Dean doesn’t speed up though, not even a bit, just keeps pushing in and dragging out, hands rubbing over Cas’s hips in a way he knows drives him crazy.

“Dean, please.”

“Please what?”

“Want more.”

Dean just chuckles and leans in closer, crowding over Cas and pressing his chest against his back. He nips and licks against the shell of his ear and Cas trembles, forcing himself up on his forearms to be closer to Dean. Dean’s iron grip on him tightens and he’s pushing in as deep as he can go, thick cock wrapped up all the way inside, just for a second, before pulling all the way out, unfolding himself from over Cas.

Cas honestly whimpers, voice thin, “no. No. What are you doing?”

Dean moves back a fraction of a step and holds himself in his hand. Cas looks back at him and he’s wearing a smirk that makes Cas wants to punch him and fuck him senseless at the same time.

“You want more? Come get it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cas murmurs.

“You want me to fuck you faster, harder, anything—you come here and fuck yourself on my cock. Come on.”

Yeah, Cas definitely wants to punch him.

He pushes himself up off the counter and turns around to face Dean. There’s a challenge in his eyes, expression full of lust and amusement as he gazes at Cas. They’re both waiting to see who’s gonna break first, and Cas wishes he cared about being the culprit as he practically lunges at Dean, hands gripping the side of his neck and kissing him hot and quick.

“Sit down.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that shitty barstool’s gonna hold both of us.”

"Dean, sit on the floor.”

Cas half expects Dean to keep sparring with him, which would mean he’d probably have to kill him in cold blood in their kitchen. Thankfully, though, Dean just smiles, drops to his ass on the floor, and looks up, patting his thigh invitingly.

Cas follows suit and barely notices how freezing the tile is under his knees as he clambers onto Dean’s lap, sweat-damp chests pressed together.

His hand shakes with anticipation as he reaches behind him, grabbing Dean’s flushed dick and sliding back onto it. Cas plants his hands on Dean’s toned shoulders and wastes no time before he’s lifting himself up and bouncing down, quickly setting a rhythm that has him squeezing his eyes closed and letting a guttural groan slip.

Dean grunts as he throws his head back against the cabinet, hands palming at Cas’s ass. Cas cracks his eyes open and sees Dean watching him, jaw slack. He grinds down onto him, hips moving in small, tense circles, and has to stop himself from grinning when Dean’s nails dig deeper into his skin and he huffs out a choked breath.

“Always feel so damn good,” he sighs, “always so tight for me.”

Cas all but sobs and pushes himself up before slamming back down. He moves his hands from Dean’s shoulders, over the side of his neck and around the back of his head, threading his fingers into the short strands of hair at the base of his skull. Holding Dean’s wanton gaze, he leans in and puts his forehead against the other man’s.

Dean’s arms wind around his back and he holds him closer. Dean’s breath on his face only makes the heat in the pit of his stomach churn more, and his own neglected cock bounces between them as he rides Dean. He’s always appreciated Dean’s thickness, always loved the stretch of it inside him, but being speared open over his lap like this to the point where he can barely remember how to talk, it hits differently.

Cas feels the head of Dean’s slick length brush his prostate and he mewls, lolling his head forward and nuzzling his face into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. The sensation has him clenching around Dean, and Cas just about hears his grunt and feels hands grab onto his ass tighter, spreading him apart.

Kissing wetly over Dean’s skin, Cas goes to wriggle his hips down, but the strong grasp on his rear stops him from taking Dean all the way back down.

“Please, please,” he manages, the feel of Dean rawly pressed against his insides still making his mouth feel dry. He pushes his face further into Dean’s neck and breathes quickly against his skin.

“Cas, look at me. Look at me while I fuck you.”

He knows how wrecked he looks, how much his expression probably screams _just fuck me for fuck’s sake_ , but Dean’s tone is hard and firm so he pulls back and levels those emerald eyes with a gaze. Dean pulls them closer again, noses bumping.

He holds Cas’s ass in place and bucks upwards into the searing heat, feet planted against the floor—now warmed from their body heat—and practically bustling Cas around in his lap as he pounds into him from beneath.

“Oh—oh god,” Cas wails, “yeah. Just like that.”

The repetitive sound of their drenched skin slapping together is erotic and obscene enough to have Cas reaching down, curling a hand around his cock as Dean leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. He slows down a little, still pulling and pushing Cas down over his cock.

“I love you,” he steals another kiss, lets it linger for a little longer than the last, “so damn much.”

Cas nods, out of his mind with pleasure but adamant in his words still, “yeah, yeah. Love you.”

Looking down between them, Dean fixates on Cas tugging at himself, chasing his end. He drops a hand from his body and covers Cas’s with it, sweat making the glide so much smoother. Cas’s mouth falls open one more time as he leans his head back, throat visibly contracting around a silent moan when Dean grips him tighter, the movements of his hips sloppy and irregular where he’s obviously close himself.

The sound that tears its way out of Cas when he comes takes Dean by surprise. The loud, stifled sob combined with the image of Cas spilling white all over their hands causes Dean’s own breathing to start to heave.

Dean rams his cock up into Cas a few more times before he’s coming wordlessly, leaning back in to bite and suckle at his bottom lip as he blows, coating Cas’s insides with his come.

They huddle against each other as the afterglow tries to take over. Cas feels Dean reach up into his hair and card his fingers through the strands before he’s slotting their mouths together tenderly. He winces when Dean slips out of him but settles comfortably back in his lap.

“You good?” murmurs Dean against his lips.

Cas hums happily, “Yeah. I'm good.”

They make out lazily, bare skin still pressed together, immune to the cold morning air. Dean pulls back after what’s probably only a few minutes, but honestly feels like hours.

“You wanna go upstairs? I need some damn shuteye.”

“Mm.” Cas stands first and helps Dean to his feet.

They shuffle across the kitchen and up the stairs together, eventually finding their way to the bedroom and flopping down onto the mattress side by side. The Colonel, still sleeping at the bottom of the bed, stirs and looks up at them, unimpressed at no longer having the bed to himself. He jumps off the bed with a yawn and curls up on the floor.

Cas turns his head to look at Dean, who’s got upper body dangling off the side of the bed, hands grabbing for something on the floor. He comes back up with an item of clothing in his hand—Cas is too blissed out to wonder what it is—and cleans himself off before handing the bundled material for him to do the same.

Cas blots idly at his own come on his stomach, “I need a shower at some point—this’ll have to do for now, though.”

Smiling, Dean turns onto his side, “yeah. Think you need a nap a little more.”

He reaches out and takes Cas’s left hand in his, thumb grazing over his naked ring finger before looking up at him.

Just like that, there’s a knot in Cas’s stomach again. He’s about to speak to how he really hopes he hasn’t ruined this, how he hopes there’s still a chance of that happening for them, when Dean rolls over and pulls the bedside drawer open, digging around.

Dean eventually turns to face him again, holding that taunting velvet box in his hand shyly.

Cas forces himself to take a deep breath as he glances between the box and Dean’s face. 

“Look, I know this didn’t go exactly how I planned, and it pretty much got fucked up in every way imaginable. But even still, if you’ll let me, I wanna spend the rest of my life proving to you that there’s no one else for me but you,” Dean whispers, “I meant what I said before—you’re it for me. Honestly, my entire world revolves around you and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Dean—” Cas starts, but stops because he’s not even sure what he wants to say.

“Cas, will you marry me?” He pops the box open, and Cas stares down at the silver band and swears it stares back, waiting for his answer. He sees what he assumes are two diamonds, but looks a little closer and realises that it’s a gorgeous green emerald sitting beside a brilliant blue sapphire, and his heart plunges into his stomach as he pictures himself sitting side by side with Dean, every day for the rest of his life.

“Yeah,” he croaks, not bothering to wipe at a tear as it cascades down his face, “yeah, I’ll marry you.”

The grin that breaks out over Dean’s face is one for the history books and Cas can’t help but mirror it when he feels Dean slip the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, because of course it does. 

Cas sits up and clambers over Dean, winding his arm around his neck and kissing him with all he has. He pulls back a fraction of an inch and starts to peck soft kisses around Dean’s face, making sure not to miss a spot, “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

Dean shakes his head, putting some distance between their faces, “no apologising. Clean slate, okay?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Cas wraps Dean up into a tight hug. He’s just settling into Dean’s grip on his back when the older man speaks again, “speaking of clean, I’m gonna backtrack, I think it is time you showered.”

"Hate you so much.”

A shiteating grin spreads over Dean’s face, “‘course you do. Why else would you be marrying me?" 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading loves <3


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